“And still you know very well,” she went on in a bitter tone, “that dear M. Maxime has done all he could to save you.  Only day before yesterday, he offered you his whole fortune”—­

“Madam,” stammered Henrietta, “have you no mercy?”

Mercy—­Mrs. Chevassat!  What a joke!

“You would take nothing,” she continued, “from M. Maxime.  Why, I ask you?  To play the virtuous woman, was it?  It was hardly worth while, if you meant, immediately afterwards, to accept that old miser, who will make life hard enough for you.  Ah, you have fallen into nice hands!”

Gathering up all the strength that had come back to her, Henrietta raised herself on the pillows, and asked,—­

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing!  I see.  After all, you would have it so.  Besides, he had been looking after you a long time already.”

As soon as Henrietta opened her eyes, Papa Ravinet had discreetly withdrawn, in order to leave the ladies, who were about her, time to undress her.  Thus she had not seen the man who had saved her, and did not understand the allusions of the old woman.

“Explain, madam, explain!”

“Ah, upon my word! that is not difficult.  The man who has pulled you out, who has brought you all these things to make your bed, and kindle a fire; why, that is the second-hand dealer of the fourth story!  And he will not stop there, I am sure.  Patience, and you will know well enough what I mean.”

It must be borne in mind, that the woman, for fear Henrietta might sell to Papa Ravinet what she had to sell, or for some other reason, had always painted the old man to her in colors by no means flattering.

“What ought I to be afraid of?” asked Henrietta.

The woman hesitated.  At last she answered,—­

“If I were to tell you, you would repeat it to him when he comes back.”

“No, I promise you.”

“Swear it on your mother’s sacred memory.”

“I swear.”

Thus reassured, the old woman came close up to her bed; and, in an animated but low voice, she said,—­

“Well, I mean this:  if you accept now what Papa Ravinet will offer you, in six months you will be worse than any of Mrs. Hilaire’s girls.  Ah! don’t tell me ‘I do not mean to touch him.’  The old rascal has ruined more than one who was just as good as you are.  That’s his business; and, upon my word! he understands it.  Now, forewarned, forearmed.  I am going down to make you a soup.  I’ll be back at night.  And above all, you hear, not a word!”

By one word Mrs. Chevassat had plunged Henrietta once more into an abyss of profound despair.

“Great God!” she said to herself, “why must the generous assistance of this old man be a new snare for me?”

With her elbow resting on her pillow, her forehead supported by her hand, her eyes streaming with tears, she endeavored to gather her ideas, which seemed to be scattered to the four winds, like the leaves of trees after a storm; when a modest, dry cough aroused her from her meditations.